The Autumn Sun
by JessicaJ
Summary: Time is passing her by, faster than she is comfortable with. Should she make her feelings known, before it is too late? Perhaps he has been waiting for her, too. (Chapter 1- prequel to original chapter) What brings her to him?
1. Prequal: A Place (for me?)

_A sort of prequel…_

_Wrote this at work. I know; that's not entirely productive is it? But then again, those of you who know me, will know that I thrive most in least- ideal situations. Oh well, Just some drabble that I suppose fits in best with this small Autumn-centric world I constructed._

_Enjoy._

_-0-_

_I would like to get to know you…_

_Hold your head high/think about a better time_

-Lucy Rose, _Place_.

-0-

The world was shifting.

So subtle so insignificant… yet outside his awareness, billions upon billions of reactions were taking place, random collisions of things at the sub-atomic level, too small for him to comprehend. Though he sat perfectly still relative to his surroundings, his skin was hit by millions of particles each second, and each breath was a catalyst for a series of reactions that served to keep him alive; all while the Earth hurtled through space at over a thousand miles per second…

A knock at his door brought him to awareness, though a twitch of his closed eyelids was the only movement he could muster in response to the intrusion. The living room curtains were open just a crack; the harsh yellow sunlight filtered through, creating a stage light for the dust motes to dance in. He watched them circle lazily in the shaft of light, apparently content to drift on what momentum was generated by the steady flux of particles in the room. Whoever was here to disturb him, and them, would leave soon.

_TapTapTap_…

More urgent this time. His eardrums flexed in response to the sound wave, attenuating the harsh rapping noise before allowing it to be translated to his brain. His knuckles whitened as he gripped tightly at the arm rests of his chair.

"I know you're in there, Vincent." The voice is preceded by a metal screech; the letter box flap is lifted so that their intrusion cannot be ignored. "Please just let me in, I need to talk to you."

He sighs softly, chin lowering to rest against his chest. "Vincent…" Who was Vincent? And more importantly, did he want to know?

His steady rise to his feet is enough to shift the air in the room; the dust motes are in frenzy now, dancing and swirling with one another, as if competing for space in the narrow slit of evening sunlight. The door opens and immediately cool air displaces the stuffy air that had been trapped within for days. He squints in the sunlight, the cool influx lifting back his hair from his face.

She in standing in the golden sun on his doorstep. She is holding an umbrella in her hand, and he notes that there are droplets of moisture on its repellent surface. He can taste the rainfall on the air. It smells good. Fresh and clean. Wide amber eyes widen even further as they take everything in; he uses the silence to do the same, taking in everything about _her_. A delicate, flora scent washes over him at her proximity; is it her shampoo, or even perfume? Her hair is molten chocolate, glowing like a halo around her perfect oval face. Her skin is ivory, and picks up the glow of the day; she could be made of sunlight, for all he knew.

"Vincent, you look…" lips purse before words that she might have wanted to say, but thought improper to. Tired? Hollow? Terrible? All would have been plausible descriptions. "You look different." She decided, tilting her head slightly.

He refrains from asking her how he looks different, fearing her answer. He knows full well hew probably looks like fatigue and hunger have neglected him for a person more accommodating to their whims. He ignores their calls, more often than not.

"I came from Kalm," She tried to start conversation again, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "May I… come in?"

He cannot refuse her. Kalm was many miles from here, in Junon. It would be rude to send her back. Perhaps she would realise the futility of this visit on her own, in a short time from now. He had little energy to dissuade her.

He steps to one side, and she slips past him into his hallway. That indistinguishable floral scent washes over him again; what is it, he wondered to himself?

He snaps the door shut, and listens to her shrug out of her coat and step out of her shoes in the silent stillness of the house. Fabric rustled and leather creaked. Sounds so familiar, yet never made by any other but he. Why was she here?

Rather than ask what was burning inside, he silently entered his kitchen, aware that she followed him. "Would you like some tea?"

"Ah, yes. Please that would be nice." She scoops her hair behind her ears, lips pulling into a firm, polite smile as she accepts his offer. Her curiosity is blaringly apparent, even with his back turned to her. He busies himself with the kettle, aware that she is still standing in the middle of his sparse, compact kitchen, appraising whatever she can with curious eyes.

She is far too polite to take a seat without having been offered such first. His fingertips rest on the counter as the kettle starts rumbling a little, as the element exchanged energy with lethargic, cold water particles. Two identical mugs await filling on the counter, off-white and unchipped. Uniform.

She has turned her attention to the window now, stepping tentatively forward to peer outside. The stream that bisected his patch of land bubbled past as always, slightly swollen from the recent rainfall. He steals a moment to take her in, as the rumble from the kettle reached new heights.

She looks a little shorter, he notes, but then again she had removed her shoes. Brightly painted toes are now visible instead, contrasting with the drab grey of the linoleum. Delicate ankles and a section of her calves are revealed, almost to her knees, protruding from the hem of a pale green skirt. The style is much better suited to her, much better than black leather, and metal plating. Without her coat she is wearing only a cotton tee and a thin cardigan. He notes that she has pulled the sleeves over her knuckles and has her arms crossed across her body tightly. Does she feel the cold? Is she insecure, or uncomfortable? Or all of the above.

The kettle clicks off, and in a swathe of steam he pours out the two cups, dutifully adding the right amount of sugar to her tea. He remembered, and that was enough to make her smile as he passed her the cup.

He invites her to sit in his living room, allowing her the freedom of choice. Politely, she avoids the armchair that looks like the only habituated piece of furniture in the room.

"I guess you are wondering why I am here," She begins with a small mirthless laugh, blowing gently at the tea before taking a tentative sip. She winces- too hot. Her lips look a little pinker.

He says nothing, instead taking a sip of his tea in response, nestled within his armchair once more.

She is shaking her head, perhaps subconsciously. Chocolate waves shift over her shoulders as her head moves. "I finally left him."

His eyebrows lift, disappearing into his mass of raven hair.

"I know," She chuckled dryly, lowering her mug to her lap. "After all this time I did it."

"What did he say?" He couldn't help it; the curiosity was too overwhelming. Cloud had stolen years of Tifa's life, lying to her, keeping her close because he was so afraid to be alone. It didn't matter _who_ she was, she just had to promise to stay, to be content to be just _someone_ to him.

"Not much," She stared into her tea pensively. "Which I suppose I should have expected."

He takes another mouthful of tea, aware that it is probably too hot to do so. Regardless, he has to do something to steady himself.

"I mean, we were both just so hollow… I became convinced that I was too... old and jaded to find anyone else if I _did_ leave him," She continued, picking at a loose thread in her skirt. "And when it came to leaving, I didn't think there was anywhere I could go to."

The thread became unravelled, though he wondered if she could even see it; her eyes were swimming with unshed tears. "Barrett has the children, and I didn't want to let them see me like this. Cid and Shera have little Thomas to worry about, and I just… I felt so lost."

"You are always welcome here." He found himself saying, setting his tea aside because suddenly it had lost all of its taste. "You mustn't think you are a burden on any of us."

She smiled a little, and as weak as it was, she looked as though she might have felt something underneath the heavy weight of her sadness. "Thanks, that means a lot… but really I just wanted to see you, make sure you were alright."

"You were worried about me?"

"Of course!" She laughed, wiping away tears with the heel of her hand. "You mustn't think you are a burden, Vincent!" She felt a small pang of joy at seeing the corner of his mouth quirk upwards. "Ah, a famous Vincent smile. I must be very lucky."

Feeling it was safe again, he resumed his hold of his mug of tea. Peering at her over the rim of his cup, he could almost pretend she hadn't been crying moments before. Never had something so lovely graced his living room. He mustn't allow the fact that she had chosen him to visit overwhelm his imagination. After all, she did say she had nowhere else…"So what do you plan to do now?"

"I was thinking of heading over on the ferry to Costa del Sol. I have all my stuff in the car, so… who knows!" She attempts a non-committal shrug. It doesn't work.

"You _drove_ here?" He'd simply assumed she had come by train, or at least by airship. The drive wasn't known to be easy, with little by way of properly constructed roads. It would have taken just over a day, and he hoped she had not attempted even a fraction of the journey by darkness, for there were most certainly no means of lighting after the sun had gone down.

"I had to get away… and quickly. I had no other choice, really."

His lips were a thin line, a sign of his disapproval. "You could have called. I am certain Cid would have come to collect you. And if needed, I could have chaperoned you from Kalm."

She smiled again. Damn. What had he done to deserve witnessing such a sight? "You're such a gentleman, Vincent. I appreciate the offer, really, thank you."

"The ferry takes several hours overnight, and if I am not mistaken-" He jerks back his wrist and consults his watch. "You have missed it for today. The next crossing should be Monday at the very earliest."

"Oh." She deflates before him, and he almost regrets disappointing her. She had clearly not given her journey much thought, and he conjures up images of her stuffing her belongings in the car as quickly as she could, before jamming her foot onto the accelerator and heading out of Kalm for good. "I haven't really given this much thought, have I…"

"Where have you left your car?" He asks softly, setting down his tea and rising to his feet. She looks a little confused, before answering.

"I… It's by the park. Why?"

He opens his palm, twitching his fingers expectantly. "I will move it for you, for now. You may remain here until Monday." Then he could wave her off from the pier and be left alone with his memories, and dying hopes.

He follows her silently into the hall as she reaches into a coat pocket to retrieve the keys, turning to consider him with a sombre expression. "I'm sorry Vincent, I never meant to impose upon you this way, I—"

"Tifa. You are not imposing. Please, don't think you are ever an inconvenience to me."

She falls silent, standing still as she watches him shrug on a coat before going outside into the cool autumn afternoon.

The keys are a cool weight in his hand as he closed him palm around them in his pocket, stilling their jingling as he walks at steady pace along the path. The sleepy town outside of Junon is as still as ever. Everywhere is a spectrum of golds, ambers and reds as fall is in full swing. He watches as leaves tossed into the air by the autumn blustering winds tumble and spiral down to the ground again.

It was probably an autumn just like this one, several years before, when he had fallen apart in front of her.

-0-

Alone in the house, she finds herself wandering through the compact rooms, ascending the narrow dim stairwell, and opening tightly closed doors. It was exactly as she remembered it, for it hadn't changed one iota since she left it, years before.

It had been a wreck, a hollow beautiful shell with nothing to fill it; much like the man who had bought it.

She had stood at his side as they surveyed it from the street, wondering what was going through his mind. Cloud was away for a couple of weeks, and she had made the journey South by train to assist him with his move. He hadn't wanted to take her time, thought she was more than happy to point out that _she_ wanted him to take it. She missed him. That revelation made him wonder just how bad things were for her, at home, yet he said nothing about it.

Happily, she had babbled on about paint, and fabric, and great places to buy second hand quality furniture, and all the while he had listened and wondered; wondered how she could appear so happy, when she lived a lie every day. She hadn't wanted to talk about it, but he knew exactly what she was trying to hide from. A truth so ugly and repulsive that it was better to simply shut it away and never speak of it or think upon it. He had many of those, himself.

He traipsed along behind her in the local hardware store, offering quiet opinions and passing decisions on colour, before his arms were laden with tubs of paint, paintbrushes, trays, and various implements he hadn't even thought of.

What would he have done without her?

For the best part of a week they attacked the house with shared fervour, whistling along to a crackly analog radio as they worked, sleeping on bare mattresses at night with naught but sleeping bags for warmth and rolled up shirts for pillows. He apologised for the conditions, and had offered to pay for alternative accommodation, but she had laughed at him. How many nights had they spent in tents, or simply under the stars with nothing but leaf litter for a pillow? She pointed out that there was little difference, really, warming her hands on a small electric heater as a particularly cold night set in.

"Except we don't really have much peril to worry about in the morning," She winked suggestively, before reaching into her bag and producing some wine. They drank out of jam jars, for that was all they had, and he had to admit that he had laughed for the first time in years that night, waking in the morning to remember what punishment was to be had for a good time. They had fallen asleep surrounded by the evidence of their indulgence; he didn't remember her opening the second bottle…

In the course of the week, the entire house was injected with life upon receiving several coats of paint. Floors were scrubbed bare, woodwork sanded, and windows wiped clear. It was as if the house could breathe again, now so full and bright with light.

It was some point in the next few days that he had told her what he was thinking (he had blocked out the entire memory, because it was almost too easy to fall into to it and imagine what he could have said or done instead, and how the future could have turned out so different). She was rubbing frigid fingers together, trying to spark some warmth into them. She was standing in the centre of the room, the light bulb hanging bare and ugly from the ceiling. Her overalls were stained with paint they hadn't even touched, a spectrum of change and new beginnings. She was due to return to Kalm that night, and a part of him, gaping wide and achingly empty all of a sudden, didn't want to let her go.

"You don't have to go back."

"What?" The ghost of the smile she had been wearing moments before was in danger of disappearing completely, but he had to try, he had to at least give her the option. Some unknown static had pulled at her pony tail, and bits of it stuck up erratically. Her hands rested lightly on her hips, still bearing smudges of white emulsion.

"You don't have to go back to him, Tifa. You're…" A ray of sunshine, caught in a jar, too fragile and too perfect to ever let go. "You deserve better."

She ducks her head, the immediate overhead glare of the bulb casting her face into shadow. Dread settles in the pit of his stomach, a sensation of icy fingers pawing at weeping wounds. He draws closer, hoping for some sort of warmth to thaw out his frozen interior, faltering within reach of her arms. "What happens when I leave him, Vincent… Who else is there for me?" She raises her head slightly, and he is crushed by the sight of her glistening cheeks. "Who could understand what it's like to have had the life I have?"

"Whatever you might be afraid of… there is one person who understands." She recalled the sensation of fingers sweeping aside her hair, his cool palm settling against her frozen cheek, and she had slipped dangerously close, weary arms coming to rest against his chest. His heart beat insistently against her ear, pressed there with the intent to discover if life truly flowed within him. She pleased with her discovery that it did.

"You shouldn't stay because you feel you have no other choice. Because believe me when I tell you that there are plenty of men out there who might not deserve you, but they will want you for themselves all the same." Somewhere in the middle of that sentence a lump had formed in his throat, and he struggled to swallow it down again. Would she see through his plea, so poorly shrouded, like water trying to pass for wine?

"You're right… at least I will have you."

A back-up, a second choice… he had been there before, and old utterances and promises of 'never again' echoed in his mind. Was he slipping back into the same role? Could he do it again?

No.

This time was different. This time, he hadn't had his chance at first. There was no baby—could she be as careless?—and no crazed scientist: Just another hollow shell, like he.

"You will always have me." He squeezed her tighter.

And he was right: because she did.

-0-


	2. Autumn Sun

**This now has its own prequel, and Forevermare suggested that I write e equal… maybe I will. I need to sit and look at a blank page for a while to decide whether or not anything will come out!**

**Enjoy.**

**-0-**

**Autumn Sun**

She sometimes dreamt of him, though he was never a clear figure. He stood dark, his outline hazy, still and silent. And it fanned the fire of her curiosity. Why was he there?

She would wake, raising a hand to rub her eyes and drag her fingers through her hair, frustrated. She had to know. What was her dream trying to tell her?

Then it became more frequent. She could guarantee it almost every night. It would be more vivid too, if she had recently visited him, when his imprint was fresh in her mind.

He lived close by, only a short walk across town, and through the park. It was October, and getting cold. People she passed wore heavy coats and scarves, and she too had dug out her winter coat from the back of her wardrobe to protect her from the harsh wind. The blustery weather was picking up the dried leaves that had fallen, sending them swirling in the air in a spectrum of oranges, reds and yellows. She found herself smiling a little, as she kicked through piles in her boots; it felt good, and free.

His door was inauspicious, much like the others in his neighbourhood. Brown wood, brass knocker, marbled glass panels that distorted the interior. She watched his black shape on the other side, unlocking the door. He raised his eyebrows at seeing her, immediately stepping to one side to allow her to enter.

"Good afternoon," He said, closing the door to the cold and offering to take her coat. She thanked him, giving him her usual kiss on the cheek, and then passing him to enter his kitchen.

She came here a few times a week at least, to have tea with him, chat about their day. She saw him as a friend, someone she found immense solace in. Her flat mate Aime was never at home; she was always at work, or out with her boyfriend. They rarely talked these days, unless perchance they crossed in the hall. Tifa accepted her tea from him mumbling her thanks, wrapping her cold hands around the hot mug. He lowered himself into the chair opposite her with a slight grunt, glancing up at her as she cleared her throat.

"How is Aime?" He inquired as usual, to which she would usually respond; 'fine', or a 'not seen her'.

"She is on vacation," She said this time. "With Phillip." Phillip being her boyfriend.

"I see. Is there an occasion?"

"It's their anniversary," She paused, licked her lips. "I think… Aime might move out soon." Tifa swallowed.

"To live with Phillip?" His eyes flicked upwards for a fraction of a second.

"Yes. I guess then I'll have to find another lodger or… move out. I won't manage the rent on my own." She dared not even look hopeful. Vincent liked his own space. Perpetually being in her presence would be his idea of a nightmare.

"And also, Cloud called," She stated, running a hand through her long hair. She should cut it really; it was to her waist again, getting too much to handle.

"Oh." Vincent raised a perfect eyebrow, staring at the knots in the wooden surface of his table. "Are you-"

"Alright? I'm fine." Her response was a little too curt. "Well, not so angry if that's what you were referring to."

"Is he well?"

"I think so. It's best for him to keep his distance."

"I suppose that is what he has always done." _If you knew the irony of your words, Vincent._

Tifa smiled gently, sipping at her tea, surveying him carefully over her cup. He was so beautiful, Vincent. His dark hair had recently been cut on her suggestion, and it framed his face nicely. That damned cloak had long been forgotten, and she enjoyed still, the sight of his sensitive mouth. The amber of his eyes was startling, especially now in the autumn sunshine, burning in through his kitchen window.

"He asked about you," She added thoughtfully after a moment.

"He did?" Genuine surprise.

"He wanted to know if you and I were… well. _Anything_."

"And you said?"

Tifa licked her lips. "I said what we are: Friends."

"I see." Vincent's expression seemed to give nothing away, though in the years she had known him, and gotten to understand what the subtle changed in his demeanour meant, she noticed the slightest thing that gave him away. The lowering of his eyes, the least trace of a sigh, meant disappointment. The tightening of his lips meant displeasure.

"That bothers you?"

"No."

"Vincent…" She shifted her chair closer. His lips stretched a little thinner, his eyebrows moving a little closer together. He clenched his fingers. Discomfort. She raised her hand to his face, taking his chin between her index finger and thumb, turning his averted face towards her. "You know I value you as my friend."

"Yes."

"You infuriate me, at times, though. I know you better than you think I do."

"Is that so?" That downward glance again, wider eyes. Fear.

"I think you have something to say."

"I think you are wrong." He turned his gaze away.

It was her turn to get angry, though her expression was more blatant. "Vincent, you stubborn bastard. You know I care about you,"

His expression softened, though that troubled veneer behind his eyes never went away. "Yes. I know," He said softly.

"If you don't care for me, why don't you ever say? I could get over you, move on to someone else who-"

"Tifa!" She knew he wouldn't like that. His pupils dilate a little. He is always afraid that one day, she won't come knocking on his door, enter his house and fill his kitchen with her warmth, and her slightly more invasive questions. "Please. I just…"

"What is it? Is there something wrong with me?"

"No it's not that-"

"Then what?"

"Cloud thinks we should be together... I… I don't want him dictating my decision."

"So even if you wanted to be with me, you wouldn't?"

"Tifa…"

"If the answer to that is yes, then I promise I won't bother you with my presence again!" She stood quickly, knocking the table in her haste. The tea sloshed over the side of her mug. Striding into the hall and grabbing her coat as she went, she reached for the door handle. As her fingers closed around the cold of the doorknob, he took her roughly by the upper arm, pulling himself around her, blocking her exit.

His chest was heaving; fear, desperation, a little anger were all etched into his body language, and his face, his beautiful, saddened face. He waited a moment before speaking.

"Tifa." His hand remained tightly on the door handle. "Please… you know that that is not what I want. If you really mean it, then I will let you go."

"You know what you don't want, but not what you _do_. That's messed up Vincent. And you _know_ it's not what I want. But I need an answer. It's driving me crazy."

"I know you have been angry with me for some time now. I just wish I knew what I have done to displease you." His eyes were voidless, full of regret, and pain.

The anger abated somewhat, replaced by guilt. "It's… I can't really explain it."

"Please try." He moved away from the door a little, gesturing towards his living room. She heaved a sigh, though obliged him, landing heavily on the sofa, hands folded in her lap.

"Recently, I have been having these dreams…"

"What dreams?"

"I see you. You are stood over me, but I can't quite make you out, and you never talk, you never move. It's just you: Just there. Sometimes I see you, and you smile at me, and…" she blushed before continuing. "Sometimes I dream you are about to kiss me. But it never happens. I always wake up."

He said nothing, instead standing and crossing to the window. The street was lined with vast trees, barren of their leaves. From where she sat, she could see the leaves swirling past, the sunlight setting everything on fire. Then he left the room, opening the front door.

"Vincent?" She followed him, jogging to catch up. He walked ahead of her, towards the park. "Hey! Where are we going?"

"To your house."

She struggled with her lock, propping the door open with her foot to allow him to pass her into her hallway. He didn't visit her house often, and she assumed there was some kind of significance in his desire to visit. He gestured to the stairs, and frowning, she followed him. He was leading her to her bedroom.

"I have seen this room many a time." He said after a while. Her pale curtains were drawn still, though the hazy red sun filtered through. He pulled them open, the light hitting his pale skin. So beautiful.

"You have never been in my room before."

"I know. But I… I also dream." He stared, unseeing, out of the window. "I dream that we are… but I can never hope to replace Cloud-" She placed her hand on his chest, sighing heavily at his words.

"Vincent. Cloud and I never had anything. He never allowed it. Just like you won't allow it."

"I'm totally unlike you. I like solitude, silence… I'm… I'm not good enough for you, Tifa. You need-"

"I need _you_. Don't you understand how much it hurts? Everyday, I wake up from the same fucking dream. It's not just about sex, Vincent, believe me, that's not so hard to find. I just want to be with you. You are my closest friend, and I understand that by me doing this, I could risk losing you. But you have to understand, I need to try. Because it's killing me."

"But Cloud-"

"Fuck him! We made a choice, years ago, to go our separate ways. And what about Lucrecia? You think that hasn't bothered _me_?" His jaw tightened. "You listen to me, you sometimes laugh with me, when you forget about being so uptight. We have fun don't we?"

He nodded curtly. It had been almost two since She and Cloud had separated, agreed to remain friends; though distantly. And it had worked well. The occasional phone call, meeting at the holidays a few times a year until it had gotten easy, and all her doubts and remaining sadness had been quashed, only to be replaced by more doubt and sadness; because Vincent just didn't seem to _see_ her.

She had actually taken the chance in confiding in Cloud, who had given her some insight. For that she was grateful, and from it, she had become a little more forgiving of Cloud. He may not have loved her, but he still cared.

"I'm getting closer to thirty Vincent. I am- no _we_- we are too old to be beating about the bush like this. Just tell me straight. I can handle it. I have done it once before, I can do it again."

"I would never upset you, like Cloud did." His tone was hurt. Of course, he knew how broken she had been; he had been there for her, treat her with kindness, listened to her. From then on, they had become firm friends, enjoying the detached silences they could share. She knew he wasn't the most outward person. And he knew she would respect that. At that moment though, she needed to lose that patience, the respect for his introverted personality.

"I need to know, Vincent." His guard was lowered; she moved closer, her palms flat to his chest. Gazing up into his eyes, she saw his pupils dilate wider, darting around her face. Never stayed too close for long. It hurt her to do so, sometimes. But oh god, he was warm, he smelt clean and fresh, of shampoo, of faint cologne, and of the crisp autumn air outside.

"I am way past thirty now. Does my age not bother you?"

"No. What's the next excuse?"

"Tifa… What if it… what if it doesn't work out between us? I also fear to lose you… as a friend."

She smiled gently, toying with a loose thread in his shirt. "Oh Vincent… I think we shouldn't worry about that. I don't intend on letting you go."

He returned her smile weakly, relaxing a little, touching his fingers to her face. She closes her eyes at the contact, and he enjoyed the effect of his touch on her, moving her hair aside. It felt good to be honest with her for once, to not have to maintain a distance. It was tiring to stay away from her, when all he wanted was to make what he dreamt a reality.

_Fuck it._

He took the moment that her eyes were closed to lean in and kiss her softly. She gasps at the contact, pulling him closer with fistfuls of his shirt, their bodies now flush against each other. She returned the kiss hungrily, though there was an air of uncertainty hanging between them- who would take it further, if it indeed was going to go further? For Vincent, lowering his guard, allowing her so close after wanting her for so long was driving him crazy. He became conscious of her sharp hip bones pressing against him, of her cold fingers touching his neck, his shoulders, trailing tantalisingly under the confines of the fabric of his shirt, until his state of mind was sure to become apparent to her. She pulled back for a moment, hot breath caressing his cheek, her half lidded eyes watching him carefully. He grit his teeth and let a slow breath out of his nose. So she had noticed.

"I'm sorry," -came his flustered apology, his cheeks heating. "I shouldn't-" She pressed her finger to his lips, smiling gently, pulling herself closer to him. He groaned involuntarily at the pressure against him. God, how much he had wanted this. His dreams never even came this close…

"There is nothing to be ashamed of," She whispered, standing on her tip toes to allow her lips to brush his ear, her fingers slipping down past his belt, his pants and-

"Tifa-" He suppressed his shiver. "A-are you su-sure? You said you d-didn't want…"

"I said it wasn't _just_ the sex-" His belt came free easily, fell with a heavy _clunk _on the floor. Taking his face in her hands she teased his lips apart, her tongue slipping past them to brush softly against his. He moaned against her, holding her, wanting her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

He lifted her off her feet, effortlessly manoeuvring to her bed and laying her on her back. She made quick work of his shirt, tearing it from his shoulders. He removed her clothes, and she almost cried at how good it felt to feel his mouth moving over his skin; her throat, jaw, breasts, stomach, hips and…

He returned to kiss her mouth, her fingers working their way into his hair, gripping it tightly, tightly holding him to her with her thighs. "Vincent," She moaned breathlessly, as his mouth moved along her jaw line to her ear.

"Yes?" He paused to look at her. "Is something wrong? Am I- Do you want to stop?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "No, you idiot. Just… I've been ready for months."

He kissed her forehead, gripping her fingers tightly in his, her arms pinned above her head, as he slowly entered her. She winced a little, her pleasure tinged with the pain; it had been too long, too long had she wanted this, too long had she been without the stupid physical things. They lost meaning, until she knew how much she wanted Vincent. Until she knew this.

They were chest to chest, cheek to cheek, moving together in a slow, gentle rhythm. After years of nothing, years of want, of dreaming about this moment, she found herself overwhelmed, sobbing a little through her moans, her fingers tightly gripping his skin.

She came to her climax after what felt like too short a time; she didn't want it to be over, didn't want to re-open the distance between them. She whispered his name with each breath, kissing his shoulder, as he groaned out his release, her spasming muscles crashing down around him too much to bear any longer.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, kissing her face gently, wiping away her tears with his thumb. Her brown eyes reflected the red of the dying autumn sun, gazing up at him, the warmth of her body almost too wonderful to be true. He pressed his lips to hers firmly, the aftershock of his orgasm dying away. "I love you, Tif. You know that don't you?"

"Yes. I do." She smiled serenely, brushing back his hair. "Make no mistake, I have always loved you."

The sun went down over the crests of the trees and houses in the neighbourhood surrendering at last, to rise again on the other side of the horizon hours later, on a new day. A new, fresh autumn sun.

-0-

**Minor edit took place on 06/11/2012**


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